RECIPE FOR MORNINGS AFTER by ELI BINKOVITZ

VAGABOND CITY

Whip egg whites, expectations, preheat an oven,
carefully cultivate delicate friendships with belligerent drunks.

Add laughter by the teaspoons, desperation by cups, and apathy
in gallons. Freeze and thaw. Partially defrost. Chill for hours.

Pour in buckets of sugar, cinnamon, precious time and effort.
Fuck it up; do it over. Scrape off what sticks to the bowl.

Mix with diverse elements, separate egg whites and yolks;
throw away both parts; walk on the shells; get smashed.

Throw in spices, dashes of steam,
beat and be beaten, blacken, carmelize.

Set a table for two, four six, eight. China teacups
paper plates and silver flasks.
Forget to turn off the oven.

Get out nice napkins, linen, tin cups, and plastic forks.
Bring out coffee, enchiladas, cheeseburgers, tofu,
Slim-fast shakes, sushi, apertif.

Wake up to a sink full of dishes.


Eli Binkovitz is a Jewish, genderqueer  poet living in Chicago. They have a…

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